


A drabble collection

by morgana_rrr



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boys Kissing, Clowns, Dark Fantasy, Death, Domestic Fluff, Double Drabble, ESL author, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fear of being chased, Horror, How Do I Tag, Idealization of Suicide, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Lots of Creepy Vibes, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mystery, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, POV Non-Binary Character, POV Original Female Character, Personification of Death, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Stalking, Suicide Attempt, Thriller, Triple Drabble, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgana_rrr/pseuds/morgana_rrr
Summary: A personal challenge of mine to write a drabble a day for a month, cause I'm a slob and not going to write my own book at this pace, so. I'm practising being consistent in my writing.Recurring themes: fantastic undertones, mystery, horror/thriller, dark thoughts and/or actions, death. I'd write out the rest, but I'd cross a limit of length for a summary, so look for those as well as content warnings in the before notes.1 Out of the picture2 Survivor3 Keep running4 A new old friend5 An empty box6 Dancing with the devil7 As they keep coming back8 Stalker9 Everyday assistant10 More than expected11 Life isn't fair12 A distorion13 Steel-tipped risks14 Wrong place, wrong time15 A faithful man16 Fun17 The Vulture18 Lights out19 Incomprehensibility20 Stolen anchors21 Correcting a mistake22 In the darkness23 Misery's a venom in the brain24 A steady grip25 Schrödinger's cat26 Wolf in a sheep's clothing27 Lost in the rain28 Like a prayer29 Just a distraction30 ?seye reh era erehW31 Vines
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Out of the picture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, loss of a loved one

"Helen always teased me about my forgetfulness", came the sudden thought to Janine's mind as she was putting her phone down. Not in a bad way of course, she was too good of a sister for that. She'd had a point, though – Janine certainly hadn't inteded to plan two social events for one evening.

There was a feeling, sad and yet freeing, in feigning a migraine and attending to neither. Helen would have given her her Worry Package – a hug and a lecture about battling depression, or something.

It's not like she was around to be worried, though. Not anymore.


	2. Survivor

There was something wrong with the man that stood in front of her.

Was it how deathly pale he was? He barely seemed able to hold himself upright. Due to his limp or insomnia visible by his large eyebags, Olivia couldn't tell.

It was surprisingly easy to tower over him when she leaned against the doorframe, so she did just that, trying to look more intimidating. She was not about to let some creep into her home.

Before she had the chance to open her mouth, though, he wasn't there anymore; all that was left was a small, cardboard box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation in drabble no. 26: Wolf in a sheep's clothing  
> related to drabble no. 5: An empty box


	3. Keep running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear of being chased, non-binary POV

It didn't matter that it felt like hours since the chase has begun. Didn't matter that it seemed as if _it_ was somehow still getting closer and closer and closer. Didn't matter that Charlie's throat was so raw and dry and they couldn't tell wether they imagined the metallic taste of blood on their tongue.

When Charlie's foot caught on the slippery, uneven ground, their exhausted body was too slow to move and ease the fall. There was a regular pounding sound somewhere in the background. It could've been just the blood pulsing through their veins. But it could also be footsteps-

Charlie was sure that if they weren't hyperventilating already, their breath would hitch at that thought. The ground smelled of something wet and rotten. They wanted to cough it out, but there just wasn't enough air for that. _Get up_ , they told themselves, _you need to gain ground_. Even adrenaline wasn't enough anymore; Charlie's arms were just too weak to hold their weight for longer than a second.

Was the salt they felt on their tongue from sweat or tears? They couldn't tell. Not with their head swimming so hard. And the sound Charlie heard?

It _was_ footsteps.


	4. A new old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Platonic soulmates fluff

The new girl that stood in front of the class was a stranger in every sense of the word. Her skin the color of rich chocolate immediately caught his eye, as did the curly disaster of a hairstyle that bounced with her every step.

When she introduced herself as Lena, it just clicked, as if her having any other name would've been absurd.

It shouldn't have made sense that Darren already knew her likes and dislikes even before she started listing them, or that her smile was just as comforting and familiar as an old friend's, but it did, somehow.


	5. An empty box

The starling suddenly took off and flew away as if to save its life. Sophia was about to tear her hair out at this point. She spent her entire afternoon trying and failing to photograph some stupid _bird_. Well. The opportunity was wasted and she just had to suck it up.

It was as she was climbing down the tree that she noticed something that definitely wasn't there before.

There was a fancy-looking brimmed hat lying on the ground. It was white with a yellow hue to it and it absolutely sank under all the flowers that were pinned to it. Sophia knew they weren't fake after a single touch, but she wouldn't have recognized any of them if she tried. She took a picture. It was weird, yes, but also pretty and she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was only then that she noticed what might've been a shoebox underneath. It was covered in too much duct tape to be sure, though. Too curious about what could be inside, she placed the surprisingly light hat away and moved to pick the box up.

In a blink of an eye, Sophia wasn't there anymore.


	6. Dancing with the devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied unhealthy f/m relashionship

The harsh wind took the journalist off guard as he opened the door. Any craving for a cigarette evaporated at a prospect of hands freezed along with everything around him. He hadn't wanted to go out on such an evening, but he'd do anything not to get chewed out by the viper of a woman that called herself his superior.

Bored, he started to pretend the water vapor he exhaled was cigarette smoke. He observed lazily the shapes it took – a dog, a flower. A snake. _Damn._

It was a dangerous game, to dance with a venomous serpent like that.


	7. As they keep coming back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recurring nightmares

In the middle of a night a woman awoke screaming. It could've been anything; the raging storm outside or the dream itself that dragged her from the grip of unconsciousness. 

She blinked wildly, trying to pray the images away. It didn't work, the everpresent darkness of the night was too good a canvas for the brain to work with. She just wanted it to _end._

 _A lie repeated a thousand times becomes a truth, right?,_ she kept telling herself, _You did a bad thing for a good- no. You did a good thing._

The blood on her hands said otherwise.


	8. Stalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clowns, stalking and lots of Creepy Vibes

Clowns shouldn't exist.

They aren't funny. They're ridiculous and _evil_ and apparently _stalking people._

It must've been following Adrian. He tries to lose it, of course he does, but every time he turns around after another detour, it's still there. It's standing unmovingly in all of its hideous, motley glory. It's staring straight into his eyes. Its eyes move, but the mouth doesn't as much as twitch, making the sick, bloody red smile look uncomfortably real.

It's starting to get dark already. It must've been hours since he first saw the thing and the crowds it seems to prefer are getting thinner and thinner. He doesn't know if it is waiting for a lack of witnesses to make its move, but he's not about to take that chance. _Fuck it_ , he mutters, as he starts making his way home.

He's by the old playground when his gut rolls with dread. Even without some... _thing's_ stare settled on his neck he can tell he is being scrutinized and rated like a cargo about to be bought. He stops and searches all over the place. He is alone. There are no other people anywhere, not a single light turned on in one of the many apartment buildings surrounding the playground.

The wind picks up and he can't tell if he shivers from the sudden cold or fear. The old swing sways and creaking of its chains is the only sound other than Adrian's panting picking up its pace.

There's a laughter to his left. It's breathy and raspy and everything a laugh is _not_ supposed to sound like. Adrian's neck cracks when his eyes are chasing a figure from the corner of his sight. There's the same laughter to where his right must be. 

Then a breath whiffs at his ear.

_"Hello."_


	9. Everyday assistant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> background f/f, domestic fluff, stalking

Zmyslaw’s humans have this habit of hustling about all morning. He doesn’t know why the kids don’t want to listen to their mums and get ready for ‘school’, whatever that is, nor what the women do for their ‘work’.

He likes how they always take care of the underlings first. The little ones are forgetful and clumsy, in their own, endearing way. Zmyslaw likes them.

Zmyslaw doesn’t like to work when he’s got company, so he only comes out of hiding in moments like this one – when the house is empty and quiet. Today he is going to dust the weirdly-shaped, colorful little things Tamara calls ‘trinkets’. They have them scattered about all over the place.

Humans are so weird. Zmyslaw doesn’t understand them, but he’s happy to help.

He hides again when the little ones get back. For some reason they are always a bit earlier than their mothers. Whatever’s this ‘work’, it wears them out. This evening, Tamara managed to fall asleep on the couch. Rita can’t help but tuck her in with a blanket, accidentally making herself share her wife’s fate.

They forgot to do the dishes today, but that’s okay. Zmyslaw can take care of that.


	10. More than expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> low self-esteem issues, boys kissing

_It’s nothing serious_ , he tells himself as Nathan pulls a whimper from him and his arms caress his neck and waist. _He doesn’t mean anything by that._

Nath just wanted to know what dating a guy would be like. He knows now – has known for weeks, actually – but the breakup’s yet to come. He’s probably figuring out how to make it easy on his pathetic excuse of a boyfriend.

Rick doesn’t notice he’s crying until they break apart and there are gentle hands wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“I love you,” Nathan whispers, panting, then kisses him again.

Oh.


	11. Life isn't Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a dying person's POV

In the heart of a city, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of people, a woman was dying. She knew what she had been signing up to when she’d joined The Rouges. Yet, she gritted her teeth at just how _unfair_ that was.

Most lasted at least a year or two; her luck ran out after two weeks.

The world was swimming away from her, but she lost too much blood to keep clinging to it. She knew what it meant. She’s not stupid.

She wanted to scream, but all that made it out of her mouth was a broken sob.


	12. A distortion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spiralling into madness

The more time flew by, the less Michael knew.

At first it’s cups and socks disappearing and reappearing in odd places, dead birds he couldn’t identify he’d find near his flat. Soon, he’d start messing up names with faces, what he’d done with whom.

Then, he’d begin to know more.

No one else knew there was a figure following him, twisted and smiling and _wrong_ , always there in his peripheral vision. The stains of blood on his front door no one else saw.

It could be just his head messing with him, of course; but he didn’t want to know.


	13. Steel-tipped risks

There’s no sentiment in the world that could save her now.

She yanks the laces of her steel-tipped combat boots, as if to make a point. It’s stupid really; she can’t even throw a kick to save her life, pun unintended. If anything, they will become a liability as soon she has to run. If she’ll live up to that point.

The familiar weight on her feet comforts her a little, as she walks up to the doorway. She puts her palm on the handle. She doesn’t have a choice; so why is she _hesitating_?

She pushes the door open.


	14. Wrong place, wrong time

There’s this thing about guns, that it’s very hard to think straight while having one pressed against your head.

You freeze as soon as it touches your scalp. You expect it to be cold, but it’s not; it's been used too recently for comfort, which is like, ever. You’re almost too busy panicking, your heart already on a beeline to the afterlife, to notice the silent click of the gun being unlocked.

This day is getting better and better. How did you get into this mess, again?

You’re probably expecting me to respond to that. But I’m not going to.


	15. A faithful man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mild gore, poisoning

It works best when injected directly into the bloodstream. It’s dead cold and it doesn’t warm up. Instead, it disrupts the victim’s homeostasis so that they’ll slowly stop feeling their body. Immune system, haywired by the poison, will start to attack everything it can. It’ll have no hope of fighting the real danger however; the only thing it will hurt is you. Then the muscles you no longer have control over will begin to shiver, then spasm, at last blowing into full-fledged convulsions.

As soon as the shivers start your survival chances drop to zero, even with the antidote.

Harry limped through the corridor. He clenched the syringe with the miracle cure in his left hand, pressed safely against his chest. He supported himself on the wall with his right arm, to make up for the limp in his leg. He could barely feel it anymore, but it’s alright. He’s close.

He’d lie if he said he didn’t want to fuck it all right then and there. He was dying and he could live, if only he let himself. But he couldn’t do that. He ignored the nagging thoughts and pressed on.

It’s funny, isn’t it, how faith changes us.


	16. Fun

Being worth to someone dead more than alive is a good enough excuse for being jumpy. At least that’s what he tells himself, but he’s always had the tendency to overrate his importance. No, he’s being chased for a much more simple reason than that.

As soon as he sees her figure in the distance, he breaks into a sprint. 

Listening to him pant and squirm from fear, to hear him whimper as he scrapes his knees on the ground. Watching his eyes half-blind with tears, as he looks over his shoulder and realizes he’s going to die.

It’s _fun_.


	17. Chapter 17

She has many names; Nightface, Reaper, Razorclaw, but her favourite is The Vulture.

It suits her methods quite nicely, she thinks. She likes the aesthetic of this bird. Sometimes she imagines how her prey, if she may call them that, sees her. Unapproachable with how high she is. Following, watching them, not going to hurt them until after they’re dead.

She never managed to imagine what’s it like to see a scavenger on your tail and know that the death in near. She doesn’t like to bother. Doing some things by herself is too much like getting her hands dirty.


	18. Lights out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: implied child abuse

Grace can’t open the door to her room. She’s tried, but every time she does, it just won’t open. There’s only one thing that can and it’s not her.

It’s never clear when it’ll come, but when it does, it’s always dark. There are no windows in her room, so she makes sure the lights are always on. As long as they are, she’s safe. As soon as they’re out, she’s not.

It’s always a gamble on how long they last. The monster likes to play.

It’s dark. Grace has tried more hiding spots than she can count, even if it’s only up to twenty - it’s how many fingers and toes she remembers having. She’s not giving up, though. Tonight she’s trying out a new formation of her stuffed toys. Maybe if it’s the big, scary bear on the front, the monster will get scared and won’t come near _and won’t touch her and it won’t hurt-_

It’s a feeble wish, but it’s all she has and she’s not about to let it go.

The animals separate the bed from the door, a shield for her to hide behind. If this works, it’ll be the first time anything does.


	19. Incomprehensibility

There’re stories told by minds who don’t understand. Terrified, scarred hearts speaking of what they’ve lived through in the middle of an ocean. These are tales of lighting, wind and clouds that came even though they shouldn’t have.

In the end, everything comes down to the relentless monsters raging across the surface. They dance in the rhythm only they can hear, carrying a promise with each rise and fall – one to take you with them deep down, where no light will ever reach you again.

It’s a shame none who lived can see the beauty in the incomprehensibility of theirs.


	20. Stolen anchors

She had some time with the armchair blocking the door handle, but the amount of it’s nowhere near enough to be comforting. She made a beeline for the bag with her target in it.

There’re so many of them inside, but none she saw were hers. They all had been someone’s once. Not anymore, though; if they were, they wouldn’t have shattered as she pulled them out and let them fall to the floor. As much as her heart ached for the dead, this was no place or time to mourn. The only people these items were worth anything anymore to were the thieves, anyway.

Her breath hitched when someone tried to open the door. Whoever that was, they’ve already picked the lock. Her movements picked up. She tried ignoring how her hands shook, but if she didn’t find it, she was already dead, and she couldn’t fail with the salvation already at her fingertips.

The men broke down the door and looked around wildly, taking in the empty room and shattered pieces that were laying around her feet a second ago. But she’d no reason to care for any of that, anymore.

She was home and she was safe.


	21. Correcting a mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: kidnapping

They didn’t expect to wake up with pain in their wrists. Nor with the strap of fabric in their mouth and that they were sitting in a chair and they couldn’t move and they couldn’t see-

“You’re awake,” came a feminine voice. “Good. I was waiting.”

It didn’t take genius to figure out that whatever’s coming, it wouldn’t end good for them.

“Do you remember Shawn Jones?” The same person again, “Do you remember the man you murdered?”

Their breath hitched at the last word. Nobody could know! In a telltale sign of a panic attack, their heartbeat picked up.

“Do you remember him?!” She lost her composure. “Tell me!”

They did. They saw his bloody and motionless face every time they dared to fall asleep. They gave a shaky nod.

“You probably tried to excuse yourself, didn’t you?” They didn’t. “Bet he had it coming for him sooner or later. A man makes _so_ many enemies by helping the poor every chance he has.” The anger meshed with hatred in her shaking voice. “He just was like that. A good man who helped people.”

She failed to stifle a sob and gave herself a while to compose herself.

“He shouldn’t have helped you. He’d be alive if he hadn’t and it’s your fault!”

 _Please stop_ , they thought, _it was an accident._

“Life’s funny isn’t it? ‘A good man dies for naught as his murderer walks away’. Would’ve made a great headline, I bet,” she spat. _Shut up._ “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be on the first page?”

They stopped bothering to stifle the tears. They had no control over them nor the lungs hyperventilating as if after a run.

“The universe made a mistake allowing you to live.” She stood up and cocked a gun, “I’ll correct that.”


	22. In the darkness

He didn’t mean to lose the track of time. Going out so late was a really stupid thing to do and now he’s stuck in a greenhouse with no light.

He clenched his teeth, crouching in-between the plants. _Idiot._ He’d nothing to chase away the darkness with and it’s all he’s going to get in manner of protection from the Shadows.

There’s a crash as one _them_ brings with itself a rain of glass through the now broken roof. For a second, his body froze in the breeze colder than it had any right to be.

He got up and run.


	23. Misery's a venom in the brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: idealization of suicide, suicide attempt (not graphic)

There’s a venom pulsing through his veins and the source of it is himself.

A supposed solution to his condition fits in a single vial. A poison so different from the one he already knows. He handles it with care, as one would a beloved pet, for to him it’s the key he’s been searching for so long.

He hoped it’d work. He was wrong. A key is useless with no keyhole to put it in. All he got was a taste of the sweet nothingness that he craved but would never have.

He promised himself to succeed next time.


	24. A steady grip

He’s seen the woman in front of him before, though only in his dreams. He doesn’t notice he’s staring at first, but before he can look away, their gazes meet. She freezes for a second; then she walks up to him with a spring in her step, excited as if she’s just found something she’s been looking for very long.

“Hi,” she greets.

“Oh, um h-hi?” He hems. “Do we, uh, know each other?”

“I’m Hannah,” she says, ignoring his question and grabs his hand. “Do you want to get a drink?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but can only yelp as she pulls him with her, powerwalking along the sidewalk. Then the words die in his throat the second he looks at her – the chestnut curls long and shining, flowing freely down her back and reaching the curvy hips. She’s thin, but not unhealthily so, and soft around the edges. Delicate. 

She has yet to let go of his hand, her grip steady and grounding, though his gut tells him he would’ve followed her either way.

“We’re here!” she announces, her voice not less lively than her step.

The moment he looks around for the first time of what feels like forever, he realizes something isn’t right. The sun is already setting, the last rays of sunshine illuminating the obscure alley he finds himself in. It was noon when they met. How long have they been walking for?

His breath hitches when he tries to free his hand and finds he can’t do so. Hannah doesn’t even budge, her arm as stiff and solid as her wide smile.

“No one serves coffee here.” She cocks her head, gaze unmoving. “Though if someone did, I wouldn’t know. I only drink blood.”

She grabs him by his insides this time.


	25. Schrödinger's cat

There is a door in his house he can’t ignore. He wants it to be there as much as he likes the promise of the dreadful room behind it. And yet, if given a chance, he’d choose for it to stay where it is.

He has no way of being sure what’s inside, which of the possibilities came to fruition. So he doesn’t open the door, telling himself that as long as he resists the urge to kill the uncertainty festering in his chest, the ‘cat’ lives.

Today won’t be the day it dies. Not if he can help it.


	26. Wolf in a sheep's clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the "Survivor" drabble and related to "An empty box".
> 
> CW: implied kidnapping

She never quite understood what’s it like to be picked apart and scrutinized until the big, unnatural eyes of the woman before her focused on her being. Olivia could tell that a weird stranger showing out of the blue at your doorstep is never a good sign. Especially if said stranger’s holding a small box, covered toe in duct tape.

Olivia cleared her throat. When has it gotten so dry?

“Can I help you?” she forced herself to ask.

“Yes, actually. I’m looking for a box, not unlike this one.” She gestured to what she’s holding. “It is perhaps an unusual question, but you haven’t seen any around, have you?”

Olivia has. She’s been too busy caring for the man who came out of it to clean up its shreds from the floor. She hugged herself to hide the tremor in her hands; too bad she couldn’t do the same to the one in her voice.

“Sorry, but no. Good luck in finding it, though?”

The woman badly disguised her discontent with a smile. The words she spoke, even though must’ve been meant as reassurance, only brought chill to Olivia’s bones.

“I’m sure I’ll find it soon enough. Thank you for your time.” The woman tipped her flowery hat in a polite goodbye and walked away.

It’s then that the dam broke. Olivia slammed the door shut and slid down to the floor. Keeping her breaths steady while her panicked lungs begged for more air proved to take a heavier toll than she’d been ready for. 

Maybe it’s how quiet Carl walked, or maybe it’s her panting that drew out the footsteps, but he remained unnoticed until he was crouching next to her.

“You’re pale. Are you alright?” He asked.

She shook her head, “I think we’ve got a problem.”


	27. Lost in the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: not graphic drowning

The man didn’t bother to stop and reconsider his options. It’s understandable in his circumstances; the hounds’ howls cut through the heavy rain and the river would cover his trace. Already wet and shaking he jumped in, not expecting anything to happen.

The current hit him hard, immediately sweeping him off balance. His head cracked on the rocky river bottom and he gasped, letting the water in. He managed to stand up for a second. As the world swam around him, the pounding in his head was enough for him to slip up once more.

He never woke up again.


	28. Like a prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for a loss of a loved one

The rough ground was doing no favors for her scraped knees. The blood leaking through her skin mixed with the one coming from the twisted offering she clutched to her chest. She shouted, she cried and she begged, all to no avail.

If she was in a church, one could’ve mistaken her words for a prayer.

She was in no home of God’s, however. The abandoned warehouse she found her dying daughter in housed only violence and regret. Her little girl could be so careless sometimes. She should’ve known.

She didn’t, though, and now all she could do was mourn.


	29. Just a distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f/m, implied sexual interactions, dubious consent (drunkenness)

As most things in his life, it started with curiosity.

He saw a girl in a pub. She was sitting alone in a booth, face numb, empty glasses all over the table. For some reason, all he could wonder about was her name. He walked over, too drunk to care about such things as propriety.

He would’ve been chased away if the girl was at least a bit more sober, or had the friends who were. But she didn’t, so she said her name’s Vivian and she’s in need of a distraction.

They both knew where the conversation was heading.

The second they locked the door behind themselves, Vivian springed into action. She grabbed the short hair on his occiput and _tugged_ , guiding his mouth towards hers.

Too lost in the sensations, they forgot to care about the noise. The kiss was slurpy and loud, their lips failing to find a rhythm. Vivian wasn’t about to waste a second of their time together; as soon as they broke apart for air, she shifted her attentions elsewhere.

At his abs, at his hips, at his face; her hands were everywhere. He wondered what her skin would feel like under his palms.


	30. ?seye reh era erehW

She plummets to the ground, the cold wind burning her face.

The fall ends, but the death does not come.

Where is she, again? She tries to look around, but she can’t. There’s no white, no black, no colour. She touches her face. She can’t move her eyes, _where are her eyes_? A hand is on her face, at least it’s probably a hand, and what does a hand look like, anyway? She can’t remember, but _there’s a hand on her face_ and she can’t tell if it’s hers or not but she ~~wants~~ _needs_ it gone _now_.

She screams.


	31. Vines

There is a vile thing in this world that calls itself a god it is not. It isn’t conscious as one might think. It doesn’t need to be in order to have the vines of its corruption running deep, ever growing, a parasite out of control.

A person never notices when one of them takes a hold; a feat impossible with how long it takes for the vines to make roots in their host. They run past the flesh, past everything a human eye can see, and don’t stop until they latch onto the soul itself.

And then, they _feast_.


End file.
